


with it or upon it

by iluxia



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: AU, Angst, Historical, M/M, Romance, Violence, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-05
Updated: 2009-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:16:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluxia/pseuds/iluxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complete. When Dino falls in love, he does not let anything hold him away from the item of his heart - not his family, not his blood, not his city, and most definitely not Romario. Ancient Greece (Sparta/Athens) fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Published for [khrfest](http://khrfest.livejournal.com/): 2009 October 5th, prompt #19: Dino/Hibari + Romario, protectiveness; "can't you see he's heartless?"
> 
>  **(1) agora** : the marketplace, where traders, politicians, soldiers, and all sorts of people, rich and common, gather in Ancient Greece  
>  **(2) polemarchos** : a commander of a mora (collection) of 576 men, one of six in a Spartan army on full campaign

Dino arrives home amongst much cheer and fanfare, welcomed by Athenian soldiers as they approach the city. The Spartan set of twelve he has traveled with for the last two days leave him with brief nods of acknowledgment; he sends them off with a word of thanks for their lovely young King.

His set is calm and fortified as they ride into Athens, but inside, he is grim and despairing, already pained by the sudden separation from his newfound addiction. When he closes his eyes he still can see flashes of pale white skin, ripples of soft red cloths, and dark, dark eyes of the most precious molten ferocity. He longs to be back in Sparta, back within the Spartan King's bed.

_Back to Kyouya._

He meets his father at the steps of the palace, and as he is engulfed by a mad frenzy of overjoyed hugs and overenthusiastic greetings, he mourns for his loss.

 

 

 ** _~ with it or upon it~_**  
( dio )  
protectiveness; "can't you see he's heartless?"

 

  
  


~

 

It is Romario who first notices his odd behaviour. He had expected as much; it is Romario who takes personal care of him, and has done so since he was but a babe. Romario has been paying rapt attention to his movements ever since his return, and despite how many times he reassures the man, Romario refuses to take his word for anything. Blaming himself for Dino’s fall into the hands of the Spartan hoplites, Romario insists upon watching Dino like a hawk, waiting for the most minute sign of aberration or wrong. Suffice to say, Romario finds it rather quickly.

“Say, Romario,” he begins by way of conversation, “do you think there will ever be a long-lasting peace between Athens and Sparta?”

Romario’s hands hover still above the food he has been preparing for the young Athenian prince. Dino’s most trusted general and confidant—who still insists upon doing the chores for him, as if Dino was a young boy and Romario was still the retainer—looks all sorts of suspicious, distressed, and anxious all at once.

“There is no need to be so alarmed, my friend, I am only curious,” but Romario does not listen.

Instead, Romario takes his young liege by the shoulders and squares them eye to eye. “Listen to me, Dino,” he says. “Sparta is Athens’ foremost rival and enemy, and has been for long before your father’s rule, and will be for long after yours. It is a hatred rooted deep into the people, into society, into their politics, into their families when they lose a relative in the war. It is a hatred rooted into the very fabric of each person, Dino, and you will do well to remember that.”

Dino looks Romario in the eye, and in the same manner as one of the (in)famed philosophers from his city, he evenly declares, “But you did not answer my question.”

Romario stays still for a moment, and then sighs. Dino feels the pressure lessen on his shoulders, feels it disappear altogether as Romario retrieves his hands and sits back to fold them in his lap. The older man is a trusted soldier and servant of Dino’s father, the King, and has been through a lot in order to earn and deserve such trust. Dino believes there is no one else in this palace holding as much secrets as Romario does.

So Dino pushes, “I want to know if it is at all possible. Don’t you, Romario? Don’t you despair at the dead we reap from every battle? These are our men, Romario, good men! And Sparta’s men as well—don’t you think they too have families?”

It is then, Dino believes, that Romario is alarmed of his behaviour.

  
  


~

  
  


Romario never had answered his question that day, but Dino persists in finding it. He asks his father’s generals whenever he sees them, asks them questions but with much more finesse and subtlety. They all give him the same sidestep, and the few who give answers give him unsavoury ones. They do not think of peace, he realizes. These men never think of peace.

Perhaps it is because of the glory war brings. There are, after all, only three principal causes of quarrel: competition, diffidence, and glory. The third one is the most powerful and rarest of all commodities.

Dino walks around the agora (1), watches the men and women of Athens conduct their business. As he looks into their faces, he sees the same mothers and sisters and brothers he had seen in Sparta. Sparta, too, have families like these, businesses like these. He does not understand how men can go to war against similarly beautiful, industrious men. Simply because they come from a different city does not justify their death, does it?

He is quiet in his thoughts even as the people greet him when he passes by. He is aware that there are rumours of his strange behaviour running about in town. They are worried for their young Prince, rightly so. His capture had been a sudden thing, and he had been kept captive in Sparta for a solid month and two days.

But though the citizens’ worries are now assuaged with sight of his good health, his physical wellbeing is the least of the generals’ and Romario’s worries. They, in particular, are worried for his state of mind. They hold suspicions that he has been swayed by the Spartans; contrary to their belief, he is well-aware of this. He is more capable than he comes off.

In a sense, they are correct. In a sense, he has been swayed, except in a slightly different manner than what they think. Is that so evil? Yes, it is, to them. Because he is their Prince, and in the future, in the near future, he is to lead them to war against Sparta—against the very city wherein his heart now dwells.

He catches sight of a trader carrying jewellery from Piraeus, a port town south of Athens, a half-day’s walk away. There in the small wooden display tray of fine jewellery lay a golden ring, glinting underneath the bright Mediterranean sun. It is a simple band of gold, without any further ornament or design—Dino thinks it is most fitting for the purpose he has in mind for it.

Discreetly, he buys it, avoiding anybody’s eye as he walks away from the trader. He tucks the ring into a purse and tucks the purse into a fold of his robes. Should the women catch wind of this, they will not stop until they find the most fortunate soul his eyes have set upon, the surely beautiful girl the ring will be given to.

Dino does not wish to disappoint them, so he slips away into the alleys. It is better if they do not know.

  
  


~

  
  


For two days he waits, calmly and methodically preparing his stallion for journey. His stallion, a gift from his father when he was twelve, had been injured before he was captured, a good three moons ago. It had been from faulty handling; their stable handler had been drunk. Fired immediately afterwards, of course; Dino had not been able to forgive the old man (irresponsible and intemperate fool). But now, after much careful tending to and with the best medicine to heal the horse, his stallion is impatient for a gleeful flight.

“Just as I am, my friend,” his whispers are quiet, reserved for the stallion’s ears. “Just as I am.”

With care and affection, he brushes the stallion’s long white-and-blond mane, taking pleasure in the repetitive mechanical action. His mind is full of the conversation he had come upon this morning, a conversation between Romario and his father.

It seems that Romario is no longer able to hold his tongue, and had confided in the King regarding Dino’s odd behaviour since coming home. His father had been worried, so Dino had heard, but not too much—and his father’s explanation had been a solid one.

“Dino has a kind heart, Romario,” his father had said, “and you know how he is. He has now affection towards Sparta, because he is that way. His mother was the same, when she was alive. But it will pass, Romario. Affection can only stretch so far; it will snap when he sees a Spartan murder an Athenian in cold blood before his very eyes, as they have done and will do for centuries.”

A good excuse is what it is, Dino thinks, but it will not hold much longer, because Dino does not think he will stop loving Sparta anytime soon. He is not _just_ affectionate to their people; it is more than that, _much_ more than that. Nevertheless, he will play along with this excuse, because it will work, because it will cover his tracks and give him ample time to think up his next excuse.

However, with one thing, he will not agree. Sparta and Athens will cease the war, cease the bloodshed, and if he needs to devote his entire life to this cause, then he shall. It is a shame that the beauty of two cultures complementing each other will only ever meet on the battlefield. He has faith in his citizens; he knows that if they are given the opportunity to meet and mingle with the Spartans as he had been, they will fall in love, as he had.

He leads his stallion from the stables and meets with the party of three hundred men strong gathering before the palace, half into the _agora_ (1). When he sees his father upon a grand white steed, he smiles and mounts. He had always admired his father’s strength and conviction; today, that admiration remains pulsing within his veins.

They are headed for Corinth, where his father is needed to repair their tarnished relations. It is rare that the entire royal guard with the King rides out of Athens for a simple negotiation, but it is imperative that good relations be restored between Corinth and Athens. The Corinthians had been alarmed when Athens had granted the Spartans access and ownership of Argos and the neighbouring territories, thinking that Athens had finally turned face and betrayed them.

That piece of land had been the last buffer between Corinth and Sparta’s looming forces; it was seized by Athens long ago after one of the many battles between the city-states and provinces. Corinth had agreed to Athens’ presence, but Dino doubts they will agree to Sparta. Athens is known to be much more lenient and less... Spartan. Dino does not get the difference. Here is Athens, and here is Sparta, both with the same old farts for generals and the same businesses and the same men and women living within the city walls. Fellow human beings, his heart screams, are here killing each other and there is nothing he can do about it!

He remains quiet as they ride out of the city, westward. It takes them four long days of quiet and cautious riding, during which time he is kept firmly in between Romario and his father. It takes much effort to stifle his complaints and ride along obediently, but he finds his exertion well worth it when he arrives in Corinth and finds out that the Spartan King and his royal guards are staying at a fort in Argos.

  
  


~

  
  


Eagerness unbidden, he slips out to Argos on the first night of their Corinthian welcome. He does not notice—nor will he have minded, if he had noticed—Romario’s piercing stare as he rode into the moonlit darkness. The journey is swift and clandestine, as his stallion blends in with the monochrome scenery of the night. He flits in between fingers of shadows, and for a half-hour he rides this way, quiet but hasty.

He finally reaches Argos, a fire-lit fortress in the sea of black, but soldiers block his way into the city with heavy shields and tall pointed spears. He eyes the glisten of oil on the tips of the blades—poison, potent and strong, with full intent to immobilise and kill. He had seen these same soldiers smear the poison into their blades when he had stayed in Sparta, and he knows that every Spartan blade carries the same bite. They are truly an army to be feared.

But fortunately not for him—not tonight.

“Our King warned me that you would return,” it is, again, the nameless _polemarchos_ (2) that had captured him before. “You truly are a fool.”

Dino only smiles from aloft his stallion. “Fools are as fools come, my friend.”

The _polemarchos_ stands still, as if deciding upon something, and then abruptly turns about face. With a sharp cutting motion of a hand the _polemarchos_ has his men retrieving their shields and spears, thereby opening up Dino’s way.

“The King awaits you in his chambers, Athenian Prince,” and it is all the man has to say to him.

Dino rides into the city, heart as high as the soaring nightly clouds above. When he steps off his stallion and into the fort, he is assisted by servants into the hall, now devoid of much furniture except for the bare necessities. All too Spartan. He is guided deep into the structure until he arrives within the biggest set of chambers, and in the very centre of the hall, reclined atop princely cloths, is the very item of his smitten heart.

With a broad smile he approaches and falls to his knees. With a reverent air he seizes the Spartan King’s hand and brings it to his lips, murmuring worshipfully and with a breath of the most profound kind joy:

“Kyouya.”

  
  


~

 

Vividly behind the lids of his eyes he can still remember the night he first sighted the young and newly minted Spartan King. He had known from the very first moment that he was captured and owned, body and soul.

Tonight he succumbs as Kyouya descends upon him and sinks teeth into his neck, marking him as exclusive property. He drinks in the sight of Kyouya’s pale, naked skin underneath the palms of his hands. He engraves into the very fabric of his memory the slightest cadence of Kyouya’s waist and back as they ride together towards a peak of ecstasy he knows they both crave more than food or water or sleep.

He arches off the bed as the first—and most certainly not the last—climax of the night is wrung from his body. Kyouya, riding atop him, seizes his chin and aggressively claims his mouth, and they go lung to lung and tongue on tongue as he rolls them over and settles himself in between two long, delectable stretches of leg.

Closing mouth around and flattening tongue against a flat and rounded nipple, he savours the delicate bends of his lover’s body as he cradles them together in a slow and dragging heat.

Tonight he sacrifices good rest and sleep for Kyouya’s body, for Kyouya’s heat and company beside him, above him, _around him_ , and as the rub of flesh against flesh drives the last shred of coherent thought from his mind, he grits his teeth and prays, _prays_ most fervently to Aphrodite and whomever else listens within the realm of the gods to _please_ let him keep this longer, because he does not think he can survive without it anymore, not after having had Kyouya’s skin and soul and breath to himself.

And he would rather die, he tells the goddess of love, than lose this one brilliant soul he holds within the arches of his arms.

  
  


~

 

 

Dino arrives home amongst a bustle of preparations for much cheer and fanfare, but he slips into the city unnoticed. Today is a festival for one of the gods, he realizes with a start, and he had clearly forgotten. But it is early in the morning; he successfully slips back into his quarters, disrobes and bundles up his worn clothes for travelling. He removes all of his clothing and slips in between his plentiful blankets, underneath which Romario finds him no more than ten minutes later.

He does not bother feigning sleep; he simply rises from the bed with a wide smile dripping of pure and truthful happiness. Between his fingers he can still feel the slick of Kyouya’s seed, the velvety warm texture of skin against skin; it is not there, it is merely a phantom sensation from his already wanting mind, but he feels it nonetheless. It distracts him from Romario’s heavy gaze.

“A beautiful day today, don’t you think?” he rises out of bed, his one moment’s worth of rest not even enough to cool his sore muscles. The tingle of tiredness still perches upon his bones; it had been a long night, but the payment was well worth it.

Romario stands by the door as he changes into casual day robes. As he dresses himself his general keeps quiet in wait, and only when they are walking the corridors to the dining hall does Romario finally let go of his words.

“You need not attend the entire of the day’s festivities,” the elder man mutedly says. “So long as you attend breakfast and participate in the midmorning religious rituals, you can step back into your quarters for some sleep. I shall make sure no one will look for you.”

Surprised, but only marginally alarmed, Dino turns to Romario with an inquiring eye, but he does not get to ask even just one question, because before long they are within the dining hall, and Dino’s attention is commandeered by his father and the Corinthian aristocrats. For now, he surrenders his ears to the merriment of these men, but he resolves to observe Romario, just as Romario observes him.

This impasse lasts for a fortnight of their one-moon stay in Corinth, until his fourth visit to Kyouya.

  
  


~

 

 

Languorously, he relaxes against the back of the grand divan, cradling in between his naked legs a lazy and very much satiated Kyouya. This is a brief respite before they spiral once more into a round of fiery passion and animal coupling. Dino makes the most of it by partaking of bread, cheese, and wine, once in a while feeding Kyouya little bites and sips.

Dino watches as Kyouya confidently shifts weight. He finds himself heartened when the turn of Kyouya’s limbs is shameless; Kyouya knows fully well that Dino will never betray confidence, not when they are this far entrenched into each other. Never once does Dino let a doubt into his mind, for he places utmost faith in his lover, and he knows that deep within Kyouya’s heart, there is love for him too.

“Do they not worry for you, you precocious little herbivore?” Kyouya leans forward and drags a tongue flat against Dino’s bottom lip.

Seeking, Dino attempts to capture Kyouya’s tongue, but fails when Kyouya leans back and takes a sip of wine. He smiles and replies, “Romario knows where I am, I think.”

Kyouya lifts a delicate eyebrow. “And he is fine with this.”

“I would not say _fine_ ,” Dino shrugs, gathering Kyouya back into his arms, “but there is not much he can do. I go where I wish to go, and nobody will stop me.”

Their lips lock in a slow, moist tango with each other. By now instinctive, Dino’s hand crawls its way up an arching, pitch-perfect spine, all the way up to cup a neck. He pushes harder against Kyouya, who gives an adorable little hitch of breath, and soon they are again a tangle of limbs and tongue. There is not a single shred of hesitation in Kyouya’s grip as the young King guides Dino’s member, and in deep it goes, smooth and perfectly natural as their bodies join once more.

“They say,” Kyouya begins as he shifts up and down, “that dogs are most loyal to their very first master.” Lewdly, Kyouya wets a finger and Dino watches it as it descends slickly down his own chest. “Domesticated dogs, tame just like you, never betray. Herbivorous to the very core.”

Taking the intrepid finger to his lips, Dino presses against it a gentle kiss of worship and says, “Only for you, my love.” The darkening of Kyouya’s eyes is enough to keep him preoccupied until he returns to Corinth the following morning.

  
  


~

 

 

“…I have not seen Dino,” and upon hearing his father’s voice from the hall, Dino halts his steps and quietly slips back into the corridor’s shadows. “He is waking up far later than normal. He loves the sunrise; this is unusual of him. Is there something wrong, Romario, something you are not telling me?”

Dino feels his heart stutter in his chest, almost seizing into a stop. Romario knows; Dino knows that Romario knows. And should Romario reveal the truth—

“To be truthful,” Romario begins, and Dino’s very breath arrests in his throat, “Dino has been slipping out of the palace at night. Last night was the fourth time.”

The King is quiet. Dino is quiet.

“And though you know of this, you do not stop him,” Dino’s father says. Dino can envision his face at that very moment; all stern and concerned and disappointed at once. As a child, he had hated it when his father gave him that face. “You are aware, Romario, that Dino is our sole heir. This city is full of peril for him, alliance with the Corinthians notwithstanding. And the Spartans are a mere half-hour’s ride away.”

Dino chances a peek past the drapes and into the hall; Romario stands with his head down, deep in thought. With all his mental might he wills a little cooperation into Romario, even _just a little bit_ , and his lips begin to chant prayers to Aphrodite, because he does not want to lose this, he does not want to lose what he has now.

Do they not understand, do they not _see_ , the extent of happiness Kyouya is giving him? Is it not evident from his smile, his movement, his eyes? He thinks Romario should be seeing the right signs. Dino thinks he will never be able to trust Romario again should his secret be revealed.

“He has personally asked me to keep his trips a secret, milord,” Romario kneels before the King, as if an advanced apology for a lie Dino knows is to come. “Please accept my humblest apologies.”

The King tilts his head in curiosity. Dino waits in anxious silence, hoping that what he is thinking is right, hoping that Romario _will_ lie for him to the King for the very first time. “What is my son so ashamed of that he asks you to keep it from _me_ , his father? He has never kept anything from me.”

“Well, milord,” Romario coughs, shifting on a knee, “Dino has been... ah, _frequenting_ the brothels of the city.”

Dino’s leg jerks against the wall, upsetting a vase on a stand, but he catches it before it falls. The flush of blood underneath his skin tells him of the colour of his face; he does not need a mirror to know that at the moment, he resembles a beet root.

His fluster is only aggravated when the stunned silence within the hall is shattered by his father’s delighted laughter. Dino does not have to peek around the wall to know that his father his pounding on a knee in glee. “Finally! It took the boy long enough, I say. I was beginning to get worried! You are, of course, ensuring that he knows of and goes only to the cleaner brothels, yes? Good, good!”

He does not stay to hear more, though he knows his father will not stop regaling of this to the generals. He is thankful, however, of Romario’s effort to subvert his father their King. Later, he will have to talk to the elder man, but for now, he wants for nothing more than the quiet of his personal quarters.

  
  


~

 

 

“You must wake,” he hears as he swims upward into the realm of consciousness. “It is night, Dino; you must wake and have supper.”

Rolling over in his bed, Dino untangles himself from his cloths and arches his back in a languid stretch. The pops of his spine pleasantly releases tension he never knew was ever there. Glancing out the window, he watches the near-moonless night as the waxing moon climbs up towards its zenith. It is rather late, he realizes, even for him.

“This is unhealthy for you, Dino,” Romario motions a servant in, who sets down a tray of food on a table by the bed. Dino rises and robes himself, stepping towards the table. He first takes a sip of wine to water his throat, and turns to Romario, who is giving him stern, sad eyes.

“Thank you for protecting me from my father, Romario,” he gives the elder man a most sincere smile of gratitude. “I want you to know that I do appreciate it.”

He slides into his seat and begins eating, taking particular care to savour the ripe purple grapes with the cheese. In the back of his tongue he compares the taste to Sparta’s native food; Sparta’s chicken is far softer, but that is to be expected, for Kyouya only has the best, including his cooks.

“I heard of your orders to the servants and the stable boy,” still standing, Romario looms over Dino, but Dino does not listen. “You are leaving again. Tonight.”

Dino looks up at Romario. “Yes, I am,” and when he sights the worry and consternation in Romario’s face, he adds, “There is no need for worry, Romario, I will come back. They will not harm me; they are good friends. Good men, just like our men. Human beings.”

“That is not why you go there, child. Do not think you can fool me,” the corners of Romario’s eyes narrow, a sure sign of a rare flare of temper. “If you truly do appreciate my subversion of your father, Dino, then you will stay and never leave Athens for Sparta again.”

Jaw tightening, Dino says nothing.

“Two nights in a row, Dino,” Romario continues. “This is _not helping you_. You are putting yourself in direct danger by continuing this farce of a relationship with that—“

“ _Not_ one word, _not_ one word about him,” and he does not want to do this, to say hurtful things to his good friend and retainer, but if they try to take this away from him, if they try to take Kyouya away from him—! He takes a deep breath and finishes his food, and then quietly begins to robe himself with tougher travel clothes. The sprint to Sparta is short, but the days are growing longer, and the nights colder.

Romario watches him as he prepares spare clothing into a sack.

“Please don’t do this to me, Romario. I beg of you.” Dino turns to his retainer with a hopeless look on his face. “He is my _heart_. Everything I have done I did for Athens, but this, Romario, is _mine_. This is the first time—I _want_ this, please understand.”

Pushing a hand through his hair, he looks away with pained eyes and shifts uneasily on his feet. He wants now to mount his stallion and ride away from here, ride away from his responsibilities so he could be with Kyouya. The more time he spends with the young King, the farther he falls in, and he is helpless to fight against it. On the surface he is healthy, but inside he is grim and despairing, already pained by the sudden separation from his newfound addiction. When he closes his eyes he still can see flashes of pale white skin, ripples of soft red cloths, and dark, dark eyes of the most precious molten ferocity. He longs to be back in Sparta, back within the Spartan King’s bed.

_Back to Kyouya._

“Dino,” Romario’s eyes are closed, and Dino can see that Romario too is torn. “Dino—this is not good. _He_ is not doing you _any_ good.”

“He is! Can’t you see, Romario?” Dino throws his arms out, as if to demonstrate. “I’m happy! For the first time in my life, I can say with full confidence that I am _fulfilled_!”

Romario shakes his head. “I only see a young man haplessly caught within a destructive addiction.” Dino finds that he has to clench his fist to stop himself from lashing out with brute force. He scrambles for words to strike down Romario’s accusations but before he can find them, Romario pushes forth, “Why can’t you see who he really is? He is Sparta’s King, Dino. _Sparta’s King_. Why can’t you see he’s heartless?”

“He is _not_ heartless,” Dino’s jaw flexes with the effort to keep from shouting. “He is _not_ heartless,” he repeats.

A moment of silence seemingly near-eternal stretches in between the two of them, until finally, Dino decides it is time for him to go.

He lifts the sack and steps around Romario. “I will be back tomorrow morning. Please keep my father occupied. Thank you, Romario; I do appreciate it.” All he can give Romario at this point is a smile of reassurance, a small, inconsequential thing, except for its sincerity.

He has absolute faith in Kyouya; he will not be harmed.

That night, he rides away towards the fort of Argos, heart galloping in delight and obsession with the same tenacity and force as his might stallion’s hooves. In the short duration of his stallion’s run, he rids himself almost ritualistically of the shackles of Athens, of his blood and heritage, of his responsibilities, of his land. Whenever he comes to Kyouya, he is no one but Dino, _just_ Dino, just Kyouya’s lover, and that is enough for the both of them.

And, as with every night when he comes to the fort, he is welcomed by Kyouya’s eager heated gaze and the bite of that wicked, feral mouth.

 

 

From above them and below them the gods watch in fascination. They are a pair worthy of much more than humanity; they are a pair of two souls made to be one.

  
  


~

_and remember when I moved in you  
and every breath we drew was hallelujah_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published for [khrfest](http://khrfest.livejournal.com/): 2009 October 7th, prompt #7: Dino/Hibari, dreams; "what a wicked thing to do to make me dream of you"
> 
>  **(1) agora** : the marketplace, where traders, politicians, soldiers, and all sorts of people, rich and common, gather in Ancient Greece  
>  **(2) drachma** : a currency used primarily by Athenian traders but adapted throughout early Greece because of the prevalence and convenience of Athenian trade; 8-12 drachmas would be enough to buy one a good pair of shoes, or a good lamb for slaughtering  
>  **(3) polemarchos** : a commander of a mora (collection) of 576 men, one of six in a Spartan army on full campaign  
>  **(4) Phlegethon** : one of the five rivers of the underworld, along with Styx, Lethe, Cocytus, and Acheron; Plato describes it as "a stream of fire which coils around the earth and flows into the depths of Tartarus"  
>  **(5) agoge** : a rigorous education and training regime for all male Spartan citizens, no exceptions; involves training in stealth, hunting, cultivating loyalty to the group and the land, dancing, and social preparation  
>  **(6) krypteia** : a yearly tradition that has the exceptional Spartan young men (while under the agoge) declare war upon the helot population and is encouraged by their superiors to hunt, scavenge, steal, and if things come down to it, kill the helots in their way to get what they need to survive  
>  **(7) trophimoi** : non-Spartan children who come into Sparta and undergo Spartan education while under the wing of a Spartan sponsor  
>  **(8) agelai** : a group or "herd" of boys under an older student in the agoge  
>  **(9) hippeis** : meaning "cavalry" in Greek; in Sparta, it consists of an elite and prestigious collection of 300 of their best young men as royal guards to accompany the King

He looks upon the item in his hand and feels the numbing trepidation deepen in his chest. Were he any ordinary foot soldier, he would be despairing for himself, but he is neither. Today, he despairs for his city, and his King, and his Prince—his _missing_ Prince.

Romario rides into the _agora_ (1), past the milling throng of people and towards the palace. He ignores the cheers and welcomes of the ignorant many, uninformed of the calamity about to befall their beloved motherland. When he kneels to the King and presents the torn edge of the Prince’s white coat, his heart keens with acute pain at the horrified sob of his sovereign.

Their Prince is lost; the city-state’s future lies in great peril.

All of this: his fault.

**_~ with it or upon it~_**  
( ena )  
dreams; "what a wicked thing to do to make me dream of you"

  
  


~

 

When but an upturned stone is enough to jolt his horse, it is no surprise at all how it bucks and bolts as the commotion from behind ripples forward into their party. His ride—but a young and ill-tempered colt—frantically gallops away from their ambushed lot of confused foot soldiers and guards. Ordinary brigands though they are, the thieves are armed and numerous; perhaps insignificant, had his entire escort been present, but now, with only half his forces, formidable. 

He finds no time to appreciate their marginal organisation (uncommon of ordinary criminals) as his colt jolts into the hills at breakneck speed. It is at this time that he wishes for his warhorse, his faithful stallion at home, injured but soon to heal. This young one is not dependable in the least.

He does not notice when his coat snags and tears on a passing-by low-hanging branch. He does not feel the lesser weight when his dagger slips from his belt, nor does he feel the satchel of money he had at his side fall to the ground. In fact, he does not notice a thing apart from the colt’s uncertain, frightened wandering course and the slipping of his knees around the colt’s flank.

When he does notice his lack of adequate defence (whether in the form of weapons or guards), it is far too late: he is being seized by large men in full battle regalia. The blood red of their cloaks startles his eyes; he has to avert his gaze from them to compose himself. When the red does not fade from his vision, he reaches to his eyes in an attempt to rub it off, only to find his fingers stained his blood. He touches his brow and feels a stinging, wide cut bleeding into his eye. 

_Red._

Disoriented, he staggers to his feet as the men drag him upright. He remembers flashes of green, up and down, hills, trees, rocky roads, another hill, a nauseating lunge and the sensation of flying—or was it falling?—and then—

_Nothing._

His colt is nowhere to be found.

“…important,” the men above him are conversing; he should be paying attention. “We should keep him until the captain comes back.”

Dino looks up into his captors’ faces and blinks against the scorching glare of the white Mediterranean sun soaring high in the sky above them. He immediately recognizes the crest they bear on their chest armours and on their shields, and dread pools in his gut.

_Sparta._

  
  


~

 

It is by some obscure severe offence against the gods that he is deprived of the ability to adequately defend and provide for himself without his party with him. His father, a gracious being, tries to alleviate matters by putting things in a different context, a different perspective, like so: “You are strongest when you defend those whom you love.” He knows better than to believe his father; the truth is that he is weak and incompetent on his own. It is a shame; _he_ is a shame. 

Particularly in this situation.

He winces lightly as the medic dabs watered clean cloth against the cut and spreads an ointment of pungent herbs afterward. His captors are humane and respectable; they give him food, water, a blanket to keep himself under, and a proper spot to sleep near the fire. But they quickly discover how incompetent he is to keep even after only himself, when he proves incapable of properly tending to his own wounds and generally clumsy in everything else.

“Some man you are,” one of the soldiers snorts through dry bread. They are at a glade for lunch and a little water; the soldiers, an entire legion, mill around them. “What are you, some high-born dignitary?”

Dino only smiles.

“Sorry, my mistake; not a man, a boy,” the same soldier grins rudely over his mug of water. The soldier then turns to his companions and declares, “Betting ten _drachmas_ (2) this boy hasn’t penetrated yet.”

With enough self-control, he manages to refrain from throwing back an acid remark. Quietly, he returns to his bread, and when the disapproving _polemarchos_ (3) passes by to chastise the mouthy soldier, he grins around his food. He hasn’t enough time to rejoice, though, because the _polemarchos_ bids him to stand and speak.

“Perhaps you were hoping to conceal your identity for a little while longer, young Prince, but know that your efforts are futile,” says the _polemarchos_ , tall, taller than him, and mighty. He keeps his face blank. The _polemarchos_ continues, “You will henceforth be brought to our King—” the men stood on alert and saluted at the mention of their sovereign, “—and from there your fate will be decided. Rest assured, Prince. We are not barbarians. You will be well-kept until we return to Laconia.”

It is now that Dino smiles. He has been given time; this is good. “Your grace is appreciated. Thank you.”

The _polemarchos_ ’ brows draw together in an expression of consternation—Dino knows how to use his smile. After a moment of quiet, the _polemarchos_ lowers his head the slightest fraction of an inch and walks away. The hoplites’ orders remain the same: he is to be kept well-fed and secure until they reach home.

  
  


~

 

Laconia is a wonderful place, Dino thinks. He finds it near-impossible how such a comely and gentle atmosphere can create such fierce and brutal warriors. But soon he sees that the same tempestuous and savage soldiers are gentlemen, collected and honourable, when standing upon their honoured motherland. 

He watches in curiosity as the men mingle with the women—mothers and sisters and daughters and wives—welcoming them home after a doubtlessly gruelling battle with Thebes. It is just his abject misfortune that, on their way back to Sparta, they had to be passing near Corinth, where he had been sent as a diplomat by his father. It had been a brilliant score, successfully striking an alliance with their neighbouring city while their rival, Sparta, was busy with Thebes. But now, here he is, in the very hands of his city’s enemy. He expects his beloved Athens to be, at this very moment, in mourning.

But of course they would be passing near Corinth, he berates himself. There is no other way to Sparta from Thebes, at least by land. He should have listened to Romario, he tells himself, and went with the other half of his force by sea. Then he would have avoided the returning Spartan legion.

But who would have known that Sparta would finish the battle within weeks? They had not been expected to return until two more moons—but then, he thinks to himself, this is Sparta. Sparta is nigh invincible, except against Athens.

Resigned, he tips his head back and sighs to the sky. By now, his father would be panicking, and Romario blaming himself. Oh, what would they do without him to calm them? They would be missing his smile.

He is led into the grand house—a palace, he realizes with a start, though much less vibrant and much more… _Spartan_ than his one in Athens. As they walk through the halls, he thinks of how bare and lifeless each day is in this house, a house with no provisions for merriment and revelry. Everything seems to have its purpose, but for only the barest of necessities. Truly, this city was a city of ideal, a theory coming alive.

“You are to wait here,” the hoplite says, “until someone comes for you.” Apparently, the King is not ready to see him yet.

Dino rests on a stool and reclines his back against the wall, looking about. The room is bare but for a cot with a blanket, a small stand by the cot for belongings, two red-and-brown rugs spread on the floor, and his stool. On the far wall, directly across the door, is a window, and he idly peers through it. Beyond is a small garden with a bubbling fountain of water in the middle. He watches as the water cascades smoothly and gently down the sides of the smooth black rock.

It is then that he sees the little yellow bird, hopping about upon the rock, wetting its feet, and then fluttering off again. After a minute or two, the bird returns in sight, hops about, and disappears to the side. 

Patiently, Dino watches, patiently, until he is patient no more. Curiosity overcomes his limbs and he rises from his stool, comfortable though it is. He slips through the door—unmanned, strangely enough—and into the garden, where he wanders around for a bit, before he reaches the rock fountain. The garden is wider than what he had expected.

The yellow bird comes fluttering back towards the rock, and delightedly, Dino watches as it wets it feet and returns to wherever it goes. He follows it, and finds there a young man reclined sideways on a divan, waiting with an open hand for the yellow bird to come back.

The bird gracefully lands upon the open hand and flutters its wings, twittering happily. On the face of the young man, a ghost of a smile passes.

“That is a nice bird you have there,” Dino blurts. “Round.”

A flat stare is what the young man gives him.

Mortification has yet to set into his system, so Dino presses forth, “It seems very kind. And tame.” He reaches out a hand, as if to beckon forth the bird, and surely enough, the bird happily flutters towards him, hopping about on his hand and twittering as if talking in words. “And very happy. My, what a smart little bird you are.”

Only after a few moments of happy twittering with the bird does he notice the growing glower the young man—no longer reclined, but sitting upright—is giving him. Such dark, dark eyes, so deep that he might drown into them and their contempt. But it would even be better, his mind whispers to him, if he were to drown in affection.

With a flick of a finger, the young man has the bird back on his palm. Dino watches as the young man rises and rounds the divan, contempt never leaving his eyes.

“You are filthy, herbivore,” and with a start, Dino belatedly realises that he is in fact the herbivore in question. “You will bathe before you grace my presence again.”

Upon the words of their master, the servants flock around Dino and usher him towards the bath. Dino strains over his shoulder to catch one last sight of the beautiful young man—but when he looks, the young man, nameless, is gone.

  
  


~

 

The young man with the dark eyes is the King, Dino soon discovers, as he sits and dines with aristocrats of the city. The son of the recently deceased King, a ruthless and fearsome warrior on the battlefield—Hibari Kyouya is the very definition of Sparta’s hopes and dreams, fulfilled. The old King had died in battle against Corinth, a root of much hatred and discord between the two neighbouring city-states, but Sparta had won that night by grace of Hibari Kyouya’s prowess in battle. Corinth had had no choice but to lay itself down. 

Still, Athens remains Sparta’s most formidable rival and enemy, and if one would describe things as fiery between Corinth and Sparta, relations between Athens and Sparta would be nothing short of Phlegethon’s (4) mighty flames in Hades.

But would it be so disastrous if the two cities were to reconcile, he asks himself? Tonight, as he sits with these aristocrats, he feels the brunt of their disdain and hate. But surely, if he is ever given the chance to know them better, and so they with he, he would find them good men. _Honourable_ men. Surely only men of such character would be able to stand against the equally mighty forces of his home city, Athens.

He gazes upon the young man at the head of the table. The King quietly feeds his little yellow bird sunflower seeds for supper, as if there is no unwelcome guest from Athens at his table, as if there is no threat nearby. The nonchalant swoop of the young man’s jaw and the elegant slope of his neck is enough to stir the sparks of a most eager desire in Dino’s chest. When the King looks up to meet his gaze, those dark eyes tightens and alight with fire, perhaps in anger, or something else…

Dino hopes against his father’s rashness and Romario’s worry. He does not want a war; he wants to stay here, for the meantime, and observe. He wants to stay here, and perhaps cement peace in place, in between the two ever-warring cities.

Naïve so he might be, but lust is naïve, and love even more. Dino knows he has fallen in love.

  
  


~

 

The following day he does not see the King. He is not surprised, but he is disappointed. There are indeed many duties awaiting a sovereign, and he is well aware of this, but he had hoped... 

The next time he lays eyes on Sparta’s young King is on his third night in the palace as an ‘honourable guest’ (a fancier way of saying ‘valuable bait’). There from the shadows at one corner of the garden emerges the young man, as radiant as ever, pale skin glowing under the shine of the full moon. The bird is as usual soaring about the King’s head, and then, to Dino’s surprise and amusement, the bird settles comfortably upon the young man’s head. It is as if the bird is nesting within the King’s tufts of black hair!

And oh, how soft his hair must be. Dino yearns. He despises now that he is born of Athens, not Sparta. Because if perchance he had been born of Sparta, then he could have been this young King’s mentor. He would have been eligible to become the young King’s mentor. He had heard of Sparta’s strict adherence to _agoge_ (5) and the rituals of training a young boy into a warrior—so strict, in fact, that not even royalty is exempt. Truly, even _more_ than usual is required of royalty, because of the pedigree they carry. 

“I believe you are under strict orders to remain within your quarters unless otherwise specified, Athenian herbivore.” Startled, Dino blinks back into reality and finds himself face to face but an armspread away from the King. “Tell me, then, why I should refrain from killing you now.”

He remains still for a moment of thought, and then brings out his best smile. “I was merely admiring the garden’s beauty at night. Surely you understand, for here you are again, idling your night away. Unless you are on your way to some important duty—then please, do not let me hold you.”

Brows set upon narrow bones draw together in the same consternation as the _polemarchos’_ from the march, though milder. Dino thinks the young man is adorable, and wonders if he could call the young man by name.

“Impudent little fish,” the King spits—and only then does he realize that he had voiced his thoughts aloud. “Hold your tongue, or I will have you sent back to your beloved city in bits and pieces on a bloody boat. Do not mistake your accommodations for good favour—it is not. We are merely waiting for a chance to use you.”

Dino already knows that.

“Though of course, herbivorous as you are, I don’t expect you to know any better.”

The young man turns on his feet and makes towards the inner quarters of the palace, to where Dino is not allowed. 

“Wait!” he calls. “When do I see you again?”

The young man levels a glare at him over a delicate shoulder Dino wants to lick clean, and walks away without a word. Dino smiles; he knows he will see the King again tomorrow.

  
  


~

 

The following day, he is called into the King’s quarters. 

Triumphantly, he dresses in garb befitting of facing a King and walks after the servant who leads him into the spacious hall. The space opens into another garden, a smaller one, private. In the middle of the room lies the King, glorious and languid on a divan, whiling away the waning summer’s heat.

“Come here, herbivore,” the young man says, and Dino comes forth. He sits before the King, on the floor on a rug, reclining against the foot of another vacant divan. “Tell me about your city.”

Dino smiles indulgently; the young man’s forehead creases in annoyance, but says nothing. “What do you wish to know?”

Throughout their conversation, as Dino describes his home, the young man’s eyes never leave his, never look away. Perhaps it is wishful thinking, but Dino feels them both captured by one another, in an exquisite dance of desire. He is a stranger to the pleasures of the flesh, as the soldier from the camp had taunted, but he has been told of it, and he has heard of it. He is eager for it, and for more.

The young King seems genuinely curious of Athens, perhaps having never been there yet—this crosses Dino’s mind, and so he asks: “You have never seen Athens?”

“No,” the King says. “My father insisted against it, claiming that you Athenians were strong and wilful. He wanted me out of harm’s way, for Sparta. Not that I would have been eligible to fight with the army.”

“You are rather young,” and Dino’s smile grows even wider as he watches the young man’s shoulders relax against the pillows and silk throws. Slowly, steadily, he will work his way into the young King’s favour, and perhaps, eventually, they will become friends. Or even more. He will say no to nothing. “So young and yet you are already past _krypteia_.” (6)

Slight tension bleeds back into the young man’s expression, and with a dark glare, the King asks, “How do you know so much of our traditions, Athenian?”

“I have a friend who studied here,” soothingly, he gives another smile and lowers the notch of his voice. The heat helps. “He came as a _trophimoi_.” (7)

“Ah,” the King relaxes again. “A foster son to a foster family. I see. Do I know this friend of yours?”

“Perhaps,” Dino shrugs. “His name is Takeshi. I believe he has chosen to remain here, after his father’s death.”

Idly, the King rolls his eyes and sighs. “Yes, him. He chose to remain because he was enamoured by Hayato, a son of one of the tribe chiefs. They were in the same _agelai_ (8)—the same herd. They are both _enomotarches_ now.” At Dino’s clueless look, the young King adds, “Lieutenants of a unit of thirty-six men in the army, you herbivorous idiot.”

“Ah,” Dino laughs quietly. “You hold a different system here. Pardon my ignorance.”

Lunch comes and they partake of it in quiet conversation, today a lot more comfortable in comparison to yesterday. Perhaps the King is siphoning from him information, but he does not worry. They will not learn anything they do not already know. He does not have anything of extreme importance to tell them, except perhaps of his little trip to Corinth—but if Hibari is as smart as Dino gathers he is, then he will have already guessed.

After finishing the meal, he is dismissed back to his quiet room devoid of Hibari, where he spends the rest of the day reclined by the window, watching the clouds sail past and wondering idly if Hibari’s skin would be as soft and pliant to the touch as those wispy clouds above.

  
  


~

 

A few days of the same routine, until it becomes a week since he had been captured—Dino begins to push closer. He expects the aristocrats to begin pressuring Hibari for a decision soon, and he wants desperately to make good use of what remains of his time here. Once he returns to Athens, things will never be the same again (if he should return, he reminds himself—but he doubts now that Hibari would kill him). 

Romario has long since been despairing at his far-too-trusting and far-too-kind lion of a heart, but Dino knows there is nothing to be done. The gods gave him his form, and all there is for him to do is accept it. Not to be confused with discontent; he is very much pleased with what he has. His smile is a great foil against his incompetence and general clumsiness; with it, and enough patience, he can get hold of whatever he wishes from whomever he needs to ask of it or take it from.

Now, with enough time and contact, he knows he will be able to charm the young King into submission. He is aware that they are sovereigns of two rivalling city-states, leaders of two different peoples, two different cultures—but what does that matter, he thinks to himself, if they have love?

He does not voice this to anyone, because he knows they will think him naïve and foolish. He does not want to be told that he is foolish; he already knows it. He simply does not care.

Today as he walks towards the King’s quarters, he brings with him his most charming smile, and stories to enchant the young man who so eagerly wants for attention and care, deny it though he might. When he gets there, the King is waiting rather impatiently, and motions for him to immediately sit.

“You were in Corinth, with a small party of hoplites and guards,” Hibari begins. “What were you doing there?”

Surprised, Dino rocks back against the divan and tilts his head to the side. With a blank expression, he observes the young King’s face, laconic and stiff. His eyes wander to the junction of the King’s neck and shoulder, a slip of skin so delicate and white it begs to be devoured. There is a knot of tension there, visible to his eyes, and he longs desperately to bleed it away. If he tells him, will the tension vanish?

“Answer, Athenian.”

“I was acting as an ambassador from Athens, of course,” Dino answers with clarity and conviction. He decides to trust this King now. “You know as well as I do that my father longs to set an alliance with Corinth to seal you off from Athens by land.”

It takes a few heartbeats, but slowly, the tension slithers away, and the little knot disappears. The young man—breathtaking, a god—releases a sigh and lies back against his swath of pillows. The King’s eyes close in languid surrender against the penetrating heat. “I thought so,” a bare whisper, but still audible.

“The old farts are getting impatient, hmm?” Dino only smiles when the King gives a surprised look. “Tell them impatience is the root of all injury.”

“They are old, and supposedly wise,” Hibari shrugs. “They should know that much.”

Dino watches attentively as the red cloth of Hibari’s robe rides up to reveal a creamy, smooth thigh. “They are old, as you say. They might need their young and attentive King to remind them of certain things in the… twilight of their memories.” He flashes another smile as the thigh turns to the side, revealing more depth.

They remain in quiet for the rest of the hour, and as the sun slowly climbs to its zenith in the sky, Dino watches the pale skin shimmer in the lightest sheen of salty sweat. The King is reclined and repose, eyes closed, trusting. There are hoplites standing guard by the far doors, but they are too far to hear the softest words. Dino thinks it is safe.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs worshipfully, his adoring gaze wandering over the most profound expression of the human form he has ever seen in his short life. “Godly.”

The King does not stir, only continues to nap under the blaze, and it is all Dino can do to keep himself still in his seat. He thanks the gods above and below when finally, the servants come in to deliver their lunch and the young King wakes from his slow slumber.

Gently, almost ladylike, Hibari reaches to where the slip of cloth had ridden up to reveal skin. He draws the rich red cloth back down. Then, as the servants retreat into the kitchen with a wave of their lord’s hand, Hibari levels hot, veiled eyes upon Dino. “I know where you look, Athenian,” the young man breathes, quiet and heady. “I know when you look. And you can look all you want, but keep those filthy herbivorous hands of yours to yourself or I will personally gut and unman you. I do not know of Athens, but here in Sparta, in _my_ city, you do not touch without permission. _No one_ does.”

Dino remains still, and then breaks out in a wide, smug smirk. “So all I have to do is convince you to give me permission.”

A slow, predatory smile bubbles to the surface of the King’s typically impassive face. To the left, by the far doors, Dino hears the hoplites shift uncomfortably in their spots. Perhaps they too can sense the menacing aura emanating from their young sovereign, as he can. 

“You can try,” a feral grin, “herbivore.”

  
  


~

 

The next two weeks he spends in active seduction of the young King, much to the amusement of the dear servants. They are good people, this he sees now that he has gotten to know them. They, too, are human; there is no need for war. Friendship and alliance is possible with these men and women, similar beings with similar hopes and similar despairs, similar values and similar morality. 

This only further encourages him in his pursuit, and each day he steps up his assertion, moving from mere smiles to bold and adoring words, and from bold and adoring words to touches. When his fingers first skid across pearly white skin, a shiver shoots downward in his spine, as if he had felt his own touch. The scowl on Hibari’s face makes plain the young King’s disapproval, but when Hibari does not do anything to push the intruding hand away, Dino is heartened.

Soon, the King allows Dino to hold his hand for a period of time. These are little things, Dino is well aware, but he has worked hard and long for them, and he treasures them like no other. Love makes him aware to the smallest of detail, almost to the point of unhealthy obsession. He memorizes Hibari’s habits, preferences, disinclinations. He racks his memory for new and fascinating stories to tell his single audience, perhaps even his thoughtful conversations with Athens’ (in)famed philosophers. Hibari seems particularly taken with them.

A fortnight and a half after his capture, Dino kneels before Hibari’s divan, and in candlelight, in the depth of the moonless night, lifts the limber wrist he has in hand to his mouth. He settles his lips upon soft knuckles and kisses worshipfully one by one the long and tapered fingers befitting a scribe and perhaps not a warrior. He says not a single word; his actions are enough to communicate what he means. Deep, searching black eyes watch his movements, as if daring him to stop, but he does not.

And then, finally, Hibari’s hand moves in his grasp. Fingers gently graze Dino’s cheek, brushing aside a fall of golden locks. He meets Hibari’s eyes; they are, tonight, especially intense.

“You have been honest and forthright with me,” Hibari says. “Take this as your reward, Athenian Prince.” 

Dino’s heart stutters when Hibari leans forward and gently bites down upon his lower lip. A hand cradles his jaw and tilts it sideward, until the King can seal them mouth against mouth, and Dino finds himself drowning in an ecstatic whirlwind of hot and moist. His arms move on their own and his hands know where they go as they slide and palm over the young King’s robed back. 

Dino takes care to cup Hibari’s nape as he breathes through his nose and pushes harder against the kiss, pushes the two of them flat against the divan, pushing his hands further down the King’s sides. The wet suction of his mouth around Hibari’s lip is opium in his veins, and the heady scent of sandalwood and pine in his nostrils is nothing short of glorious. 

Oh, and what he would have given for more, _more_ , but Hibari parts from him and pushes a finger against his seeking lips and pushes him away. The King holds him at a distance, dishevelled and eager but restrained. Slowly, reluctantly, Dino retracts his hands and rocks back against his heels, kneeling still beside the divan.

Hibari straightens his robe and clucks a tongue. “What a greedy lot you herbivorous Athenians are,” but the sidelong remark is given without an ounce of malice in its words, so Dino gives his young and beloved King a sunny smile. 

“We only give what is asked of us.”

For that, he receives a slap of admonition, but the sting is worth the uplift of Hibari’s mouth.

  
  


~

 

The days following that night are miraculous and ethereal within Dino’s memory. The level of intimacy he is privileged to receive from the King is now sitting upon a notch higher than any person within Sparta—any person within this wide world. He delights in being able to touch Hibari, perhaps not whenever he wants to, but at least the capacity is there. 

Today he happily complies as Hibari drapes himself face down and ever-graceful upon the same divan, requesting for a massage. An opportunity to touch Hibari is an opportunity never to be wasted, such that he has made it his creed to always be ready to respond to whatever request the young King might have.

He lays firm fingers upon the two sides of Hibari’s neck and applies pressure, revelling in the resulting substantial sigh and the sagging relaxation of those ever-tense shoulders. He works his way down the slender neck, past the nape where he slides the pad of his thumb in a gentle caress, and across the span of elegant shoulders he has been longing to touch ever since he sighted this pale beauty.

Gathering his weight upon his arms, he places the butt of his palms upon Hibari’s middle back and kneads. The young King arches delightfully against the divan, muscles singing in stimulation and subsequent release. He works his thumb up beside each shoulder blade and presses there, where the tension of arm movement settles. With each coil of solid muscle he loosens, the body on the bed grows more pliant and soft under his touch. He pays special attention to the knots at the shoulder and the junction of the neck, where his fingers ghost longingly until Hibari grunts in warning.

The robes, again a deep, tantalizing red, pool richly around Hibari’s body, silhouetting his form in the most sensual of ways. The lush colour of blood against the King’s pale, pale skin only makes Dino’s mouth water even more. When he finishes the massage and return to his cross-legged position by the divan, he longingly casts his eyes upon the bare expanse of skin on Hibari’s upper back and neck. The robe is not designed to cover as much.

“Come here, Athenian,” Hibari sighs, turning over and stretching contentedly as a cat upon his bed. On the table, in a pool of silk cloths and feathers, sits Hibird, the bird, yellow and round and happy as its master in its afternoon nap. Dino crosses the short distance and sits beside Hibari, smiling gently when the King takes his chin between two delicate fingers and turns his face up. After a moment of stillness, Hibari declares, “Mm. You’re too far. Come here and kiss me.”

A blinding grin is what Dino has in reply, and when he leans over, he murmurs against Hibari’s neck, “Yes, Your Majesty.” He drags his tongue against soft, faintly salty skin and sucks greedily, until Hibari tilts his head and arches up in quiet, carnal wanting. Dino pulls away when Hibari begins to push at him, and obediently sits back again. He smiles, though, and says, “I find it beautiful how such gentleness can exist within you, the chief warlord of the mightiest army in Greece.”

Hibari says nothing against this, only raising a brow and resting against his bed. Soon, the King has to leave and tend to his subjects, but for now, the King rests in a light nap in quiet company. Dino is glad he can give comfort to his King.

  
  


~

 

“Where are we going?” he asks, curious and the tiniest bit apprehensive. Hibari, today stern and glorified, leads him through the palace’s doors wordlessly. There, in front of the grand house, stand two steeds and Hibari mounts the black one. Quietly, Dino follows on the white steed. 

Miraculously enough, he does not falter or fall when he follows the fast trot Hibari has set. They quickly ride through the city’s _agora_ (5) and in a few minutes pass the main gates. Behind them immediately rally the _hippies_ (9), the three hundred royal guards. He notes that not all of them follow after the King, only a handful few, about thirty strong. He knows now that they are not going far.

Hibari leads him well into the countryside, where they sit upon a hill and watch below a small town a few miles from Sparta. This place is not far from the heart of Laconia, and below in that town may still rest Spartan citizens, but Dino doubts it. Here is a small farming and herding town; he is quite sure the people down there are _helots_ , former free Greeks of Messenia and neighbouring regions, defeated in battle and subsequently enslaved by Sparta. The _helots_ are useful for tilling Spartan land, since Spartan soldiers are ineligible to carry any other trade apart from war.

Dino’s eyes are drawn to the far tree line marking the beginning of a forest, where a boy—perhaps seventeen or eighteen, only a few years younger than Hibari—slinks from the shadows bearing a knife and nothing other than that. He watches as the boy lunges for a chicken but gets caught by one of the watching _helots_. He watches as the boy snarls, defends his steal, and lunges at the _helot_. He watches the vicious arc of the knife as it sluices through the air in the boy’s hand and digs straight into the _helot_ ’s neck, at that very same junction he so loves to worship on Hibari.

The murder is far enough from the town, but another one of the villagers see, and soon, there is a small party of defenders trooping through the farm roads. Not in the least alarmed, the boy lifts his bloody knife in the air and roars a wordless challenge, to which more boys respond from within the forest. It turns into a bloody skirmish as the boys, barely men, slaughter one by one the villagers upon their own farmlands.

As Dino’s eyes trace the red pooling upon one of the boys’ hands and daubing another boy’s bare chest, he thinks of the pool of rich red cloth around Hibari’s back. He thinks of the red cloak Hibari now wears and of the red silk sheets covering the grand divan Hibari so loves.

He wonders if they are dyed red to hide the blood.

“Gentleness is a foreign word to us in battle, Athenian Prince,” Hibari quietly says at his side. “This is the _krypteia_ , and tomorrow, these boys will be my soldiers in war. I warn you; do not be deluded by our complacence inside our city’s walls; we are men of blood, and we live upon blood.” The _hippeis_ salute behind him. “If you think you can stomach the bleed of red on your hands, Athenian, then follow me back, and perhaps I shall consider your friendship.”

  
  


~

 

He can run now, he thinks to himself, take this steed and ride all the way to Corinth, bypassing Argos and Mycenae—perhaps not even to Corinth, but to Epidaurus and from there Piraeus, the port of Athens. Home is close, he thinks, very close if he puts his mind to it. 

Left alone atop the hill, Dino blinks against the first of the milder autumn suns and shivers as the whiplash of the cold southerly wind passes him. He is left alone atop the hill, with no guard, no watcher, no one to hold him back. He can run now. He can run now.

But he does not.

Instead, he turns his steed about and rides towards Sparta, after his King, as the sun sinks to the west. Mid-afternoon they left Sparta, and now it is near-evening. He is close to home, he tells himself—yes, only a few miles away. He sees the city sprawling ahead of him and smiles, wondering whenever he began thinking of this place as home.

When he arrives at the palace and the servants take his mount, it is dark, and the lanterns are lit. He strides through the wide doors, still open, as if waiting for his presence. The servants immediately direct him towards the King’s quarters, but this time the divan is empty and the garden quiet.

“The King awaits you in the bath, milord,” and Dino has to catch himself from tripping as the words sink into his head. Hibari waits for him in the _bath_?

He gives the servant a dubious look, but the old man merely blinks at him and extends a hand towards the arched doorway leading to the bath. He follows after the servant through a series of turns as they go deeper into the palace’s private quarters, until finally, they round a corner and there straight ahead is a circular pool of water with tiered steps on one side for descending into the bath. The briefest glimpse of a knee and leg is enough to pull his feet forward.

His steps are heavy and awkward as he ducks through the sheer curtains and meets Hibari’s eye. The King wore nothing in the water, all naked and unashamed flesh for Dino’s eyes to feast upon.

“So you come back,” Hibari idly remarks.

“So I do.”

A pause.

“Herbivorous fool,” the young King softly derides, waving towards the bucket of water to the side. “Wash your filthy self before stepping into my pool.”

So Dino does, quickly disrobing and leaving by the doorway his dusty, worn clothes. When he finishes cleaning himself with a wet cloth, there are new robes set for him by the doorway. He looks about; there are no longer any servants present.

The ardent thrum of his heart in his chest is loud enough to be audible to the rest of the world, but when he slips into the water beside and before Hibari, he is calm and casual. He sighs at the easing heat against his skin and muscles, and savours the rich scent of aromatic oils in the water.

They remain in collective quiet until Hibari tilts his head to the side in a model of askance and says, “You aren’t going to do anything?”

Slowly, so slow that it could be mocking, Dino lifts both brows and smiles innocently, “Am I supposed to do something?”

A dark cloud passes over Hibari’s face, and it is then that Dino hurriedly amends his mistake, chuckling as he draws close and tucks his face against the side of Hibari’s neck. His arms snake around a firm, toned waist and underneath a smooth buttock, lifting Hibari an inch in the water. When he licks a path down a clavicle and up the column of the young King’s throat, Hibari’s legs part themselves, encouraging a wavelet of water to ripple against the sides of the pool. Taking the invitation in stride, Dino pushes in between Hibari’s legs—now hooking around his waist—and settles them skin against skin, flush and close.

Between them there is no unsavoury friction, all heat and slide and _good_ as Hibari’s hands eagerly slide and grapple for leverage against his back. He peppers the young King’s neck with marks and kisses, licks up a delicate jaw line, sucks an earlobe into his mouth, and savours the little hitch of breath. And when it finally becomes mouth against mouth, tongue against tongue, Hibari steals the breath from his very lungs with the sheer intensity and power of the kiss.

Their lips remain locked as his hands roam his King’s body, cupping a buttock, sliding further down and cupping a thigh, fingers grazing the delicate inner side. The oil makes the water slick, and it is easy to slide a finger into Hibari’s opening—Dino pushes a digit in deep, and Hibari does not even flinch, the very model of a true Spartan. Dino turns to worship the magnificent body with his lips, suckling on nipple after nipple, cradling a neck with a hand as fingers slip into his hair and tangle there. 

Oil tastes strange within his mouth, but smells heavenly, heady, against Hibari’s skin. His hand squarely encircles Hibari’s length, and it is now that the King grits his teeth in an effort to stifle a cry of pleasure. Dino strokes, slow and thorough, and watches as the most austere model of a sovereign unravel before him, _beneath_ him. 

He removes both of his hands, earning a guttural sound of protest from Hibari. Worshipfully, he drags his palms upward from thigh to stomach, over chest, around shoulders, down the back in an effort to map this wonderful new territory. Hibari’s legs tighten around his waist when his fingers graze and pinch a nipple, hover and flit over the head of Hibari’s member.

Lunging forward in a show of aggressiveness, Hibari grabs Dino’s shoulder and neck and hauls himself up out of the water, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against Dino’s lips. Happily, Dino welcomes the over-eager eternal creature in his arms, returning the kiss with just enough pressure and intensity that they stay level with each other. It is he who loses footing first, however, when Hibari, perhaps in the spirit of adventure and experimentation, rolls his hips in a tight circle, sending a crawl of searing fire to pool at the base of Dino’s spine.

“If you do that, Kyouya, we’ll both finish before long,” he says breathlessly, putting both hands on either side of Hibari’s hips to still them. 

“We have all night,” the growl of hunger and sex underlying the young man’s tone is enough to light fire to all of Dino’s blood and body. And then suddenly, a sting of pain erupts upon his lip as Hibari bites down upon it, hard, almost animal. “And I do not recall granting you permission to call me by name.”

Dino lets out a low, delighted laugh, and with a hand grabs Hibari’s cock at the base again. “Well, this tells me you like it.”

“Insolent—ah. _Ah_.”

It is while stroking that Dino lifts Hibari up and slowly guides himself in, and smoothly, with the help of the oil, Hibari sheaths him in heat. When they are hip against hip, gone the deepest they can go, Hibari reclines against the side of the bath once more and clenches his buttocks, enticing a grunt of restraint from Dino. Long fingers lift Dino’s chin from his chest and as they look at each other eye to eye, Hibari gives a knife-sharp predatory smile.

“Fuck me like you mean it, herbivore.”

Such words banish all thought of control and gentleness from Dino’s mind as he gives a solid, heavy thrust, sending a large wave of water splashing against the marbled walls of the bath. He lifts Hibari’s hips and angles another way, thrusting, and another way, thrusting, until he gives one buck and Hibari’s body twists in a violent litany of carnal pleasure. 

“Again, _harder_ ,” Hibari pants and Dino obeys, bracing a hand against the bath’s rim, cradling Hibari’s body with another. The water noisily laps and crashes against the bath walls and the descending steps, but he cannot hear it; his ears are full with the sound of Hibari’s breathing, the near-inaudible little moans, the feral grunts and growls. 

The heat around him is a scorching black and red, befitting of Hibari, befitting of Sparta. He stops, earning this time a real whine from Hibari, who is by now breathing heavily through parted lips. Dino stands and bodily lifts Hibari, removing both of them from the bath. Their conjoined bodies glisten with the aromatic oil as he lays them on the floor, where the spread of rich red cloths protect Hibari’s skin from chafing against the marble. Again, he angles Hibari’s hips and begins thrusting, this time stronger, faster, _harder_ , yes, as Hibari himself begins surging against their rhythm. 

Fingers scrabble at his arms and back but he does not feel any pain from it, in fact feeling pleasure instead as he laves a lascivious path from one nipple to the other. When he presses against the pleasure spot inside Hibari in buck after buck after buck, Hibari strains away from the floor and arches his back in a perfect, delicate half-circle, the very image of a young moon. 

“Harder, more, _ah_ —“ Hibari breathes, and as he obeys they become animal in their coupling, drawing blood and gashes with the intensity of their passion. Dino fears he might be hurting Hibari, but when Hibari arches and asks for it with that velvet voice, there is no conceivable way he can resist the request.

He surges around and above and beneath and within Hibari, clenching his eyes shut and savouring every sensation, savouring the sharp sting of the slow-dragging nails embedded into the skin of his back, relishing the grip and pull of Hibari’s legs around his hips. And when they peak, they are together, tumbling over the edge as blotches of dark-and-white consume them like an eternal, ever-burning, hot, hot fire.

When he collapses atop his lover in the haze of the first aftermath, the very image of Hibari’s pale and naked body burns into his retina, framed beautifully and forebodingly against the vivid blush of Spartan blood red.

  
  


~

 

Into their sixth fuck, now inside the royal chambers, Dino gasps out, “By the gods, I love you,” and quickly realizes his mistake. But a sated, over-stimulated, pliant Hibari does not care, and instead draws him down for a lazy, dragging kiss. He sags and surrenders to his King’s will, cradling their bodies close and warm. The sheets are useless now, ruined and ripped by Hibari’s lovely ferocity, smelling and stained of their combined seed. 

They drift into an idle slumber, only long enough to refresh them for their seventh. This time, Hibari rides atop him, and Dino watches as for the umpteenth time in this one long, glorious night, Hibari bares himself in passionate heat for his eyes to bathe in and see. When they finish their seventh—their longest and slowest yet—they take each a drag of wine and refill their energies with fruit and bread. They do not let the sun come up without finishing an eighth.

After that, they both only manage three hours worth of sleep before the servants wake them both for the day. Dino rises gracefully, but the King remains underneath the sheets, balefully glaring at the sunlight streaming through open windows. With enough coaxing, Dino manages to encourage the young King from the bed and into the bath, where again they have their ninth and tenth fuck, before they rise and dress.

Breakfast is taken the same manner everyday, in each other’s company, until Dino is led out to the palace doors, where Hibari has ready for him a steed and twelve royal guards.

Bewildered, Dino looks to Hibari in question.

Now thoroughly in the persona of the Spartan King, Hibari’s face remains expressionless as he explains, “Your father the King of Athens has agreed to exchange you for a substantial amount of land around Argos, as well as a sealed pact that Athens withdraw its deployed armies from said area. Be glad, Athenian Prince; today, you return safely to your home.”

 _But this is my home now_ , Dino wants to say. The set of Hibari’s jaw prevents him. It has been a bare month and a week since his imprisonment, but he is captured by Hibari’s very soul, and he does not wish to leave. 

He does not wish to _leave_.

Jaw tightening in frustration, Dino lowers his head and breathes through his nose to grasp his temper. And when he does, he gazes upon the twelve men standing two dozen paces away, waiting for him to mount so they too can mount. Dino recognizes the _polemarchos_ from the camp among the group; Hibari is giving his best guards to accompany him today.

The suddenness of the situation robs him of anything he can do, so he simply lifts his eyes to meet Hibari’s and smiles again, “I should have expected as much, hmm? You are a menace.” He keeps his voice low; none but the nearest servants should hear, and the servants are good secret-keepers.

Blade-like and lethal, Hibari’s smile is a menacing thing to look upon, but supernaturally beautiful still. “I told you, herbivore. Gentleness is a foreign word to us in battle, and for us Spartans, every matter of everyday is a battle. It is your own foolishness you should blame.”

Dino lets out a mild laugh now, the frustration slowly bleeding out of him. “Perhaps, perhaps,” he says, bowing his head. When he lifts it, he has a look of pure adoration he will henceforth have only for Hibari, his King, his god. “What a truly wicked thing to do, Kyouya, to make me dream of you.”

Hibari has nothing to say to his little remark, and merely stands there to watch as he deftly mounts the same white mare as the previous day. “We shall be sure to meet again,” Dino says as he begins to trot away from the palace. “Until then, I bid you keep well.”

He rides away from home, back to his other home, bearing nothing of Hibari but a thin golden bracelet hanging around his wrist, a keepsake from the previous night, when in the heat of passion Hibari had removed it from his own wrist and put it around Dino’s.

Keeping it secure around his wrist, Dino rides ahead and centres himself among the guards as they exit the city, this time keeping his knees firmly around the mare’s flanks and his hands on the reins. He holds his head high; this is not their end.

  
  


~

 

_she broke your throne and she cut your hair,  
and from your lips she drew the hallelujah_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published for [khrfest](http://khrfest.livejournal.com/): 2009 October 7th, prompt #22: Dino/Hibari, "laughing as you bleed" (LATE POST)
> 
>  **(1) cohort** : a collection of 480 men  
>  **(2) legion** : a collection of 4200 to 5300 men  
>  **(3) mora** : a collection of 476 men

Blood is red, and sky is blue, and cloud is white, and sun is high. Above him Kyouya’s hair is black, eyes dark and molten, grin ferocious and bloody and menacing. Above him, behind Kyouya, shines a light so divine Dino knows it is not of this world. Above him, above him, Dino sees the gods watching, he sees the gods giving him what he had wished for with such ardour.

In the close of his eyes and the swift release of his breath he feels life, _fire_ , bleeding between him and his lover, between his soul and Kyouya’s. This, he thinks, this is a perfect unity, perfect in its flawed and all-too-unlikely existence.

Sun is high, and cloud is white, and sky is blue, and blood is red.

_Kyouya._

 

 ** _~ with it or upon it~_**  
( tria )  
"laughing as you bleed"

 

~

 

“Send me to them,” Dino turns to his father the King, startling the generals with his sudden outburst. Up until now, in all political matters, he has remained quiet, in an attempt to subvert any suspicion regarding his relations with Sparta. But in this case, he cannot afford to pass an opportunity. This is his one chance to cement an alliance between the two ever-warring city-states, and Dino wants this for his people and for Sparta— _and for yourself_ , his treacherous mind spits at him—more than anything. “Dino,” his father, astounded, faces him with eyebrows raised.

“Dino, I cannot just— _send you to them_! I cannot simply risk the future of Athens in such a haphazard manner!”

He feels his throat constrict with the anxiety pooling in his gut and chest and mouth. But he forces himself. He calms himself, and forces himself, and reminds himself that this—this risk is for Kyouya. For Kyouya. And that is all the courage he needs.

With resolute eyes, he begins, “You need not worry. I have good relations with them; they are friends. They will listen to what I have to say.” The generals scoff; they still view him as the whimsical little child infatuated with tales of heroes and gods. But he pays them no heed: “Let us not allow this situation to devolve into another war, father. Do you not think we have lost enough men? If we continue at this rate, we will deplete our strong far too quickly for the next generation to be ready and able to replace them!”

And he knows his father sees his sense, but it is hard to convince a King at odds. Dino knows this very well; he has had enough experiences with Kyouya as it happens.

Dino sits waiting with bated breath, and bows his head in disappointment when his father finally says, “I will withhold my decision until tomorrow morning. This counsel is dismissed.”

 

~

 

He is more than well aware that he is chasing after a non-existent goal. Peace between Athens and Sparta is something so impossible no child or idiot would dream of it in any sort of fancy. The gods, it seems, enjoys watching the spill of blood upon Grecian ground. Dino does not understand it.

Why chase after death when there is life to be had? Why fight for such flimsy reasons, over such inconsequential disputes? Within the essence of war there lies no sense at all. But it is the nature of man, and as it is, it cannot be helped. Man loves quarrel, just as much as man loves himself. Dino does not understand it.

Within the last week, Sparta has advanced closer and closer towards Corinth, systematically taking one farmland or one village after another, inching closer and surely intending to make the Corinthians sweat. And sweat they do, profusely. Dino watches as the tension climbs mountain-high; Corinth expects Athens to fight with and defend them, while Athens is hesitant to spark yet another taxing war with the mighty Sparta.

Dino has not been able to visit Kyouya since a week past, and he is quickly approaching his limit. The separation threatens to steal away his caution, which would of course be disastrous, especially with the increased guards patrolling around the city. He cannot see a way out, with all paths either watched or closed. Corinth is clearly gearing for a war, and Athens is near-uncontrollably tumbling right behind its heels.

But there is yet hope. If he can get to Kyouya, if he can talk to the Spartan King—if he can just bypass these pesky guards, then he _might_ just be able to bring about a compromise, some sort of settlement that will please both sides. It seems impossible, and by all rights, the generals and _archons_ of Corinth and Athens are justified with their doubts. But they know not of Kyouya. They know nothing of Kyouya.

Dino himself knows Kyouya. He cannot tell the generals this, but he knows it deep within himself, and he is willing to use this knowledge to prevent another deadly skirmish in which his friends and Kyouya’s men will together perish on the battle field. Perhaps they will die with pride, but _they will die_ , and Dino thinks their lives and hearts are far too precious for that. He knows Kyouya, and he will be able to prevent this.

Or at least, he likes to think so.

He is more than well aware that he is chasing after a non-existent goal. But chase it he does anyway, and so he just keeps on believing.  
  


~

 

The following morning, Dino steps into the dining hall to find his father already sitting there at a bare table, devoid of bread and wine and guests. There his father sits, grave in thought, beckoning him closer as he emerges from the Corinthian palace’s corridors.

“Sit down, Dino,” and so Dino sits, waiting (im)patiently for his father to begin.

It takes a while, but begin his father does: “Tell me, Dino, why such ardour for Sparta?”

Dino’s forehead creases. “Father, it is not Sparta I am adamant about; it is Athens. I think you have misconceptions.”

His father reclines against the chair and levels him with a penetrating stare, and after a stretch of pregnant silence says, “The truth, son. Do not lie to me.”

He clenches his teeth. Mind working furiously, he can find no other alternative to telling the truth—and the truth is a rather unsightly thing to present to his father. He does not want to disappoint, but further than that, _he does not want to lose Kyouya._

And so he is caught between trusting and distrusting his own father. Will his father love him enough to let him go? Or will this be the last time he is even permitted to speak the very name of his love, the Spartan King? His father is kind, this he knows for a fact, but even kindness has a limit—and his father is a _King_. Kings seem to be an entirely different breed of souls—they are kind, but ruthless; gentle, but cruel. He represses a sudden urge to throw away his mantle and settle for a plain life; he does not want to be a King, no. But at this rate, he will be, someday.

“Do not be afraid and tell me the truth, Dino,” his father sighs a heavy sigh. “Despite all of this, we are still father and son. You are my blood and flesh; I will not harm you. Now tell me: have your loyalties shifted, Dino?”

Closing his eyes in an abject mixture of frustration and pain, Dino shakes his head. “No. No, father. I have told you a moment ago, and I tell you again, you have misconceptions. My loyalties _still_ lie with Athens.”

“Then why the insistence, Dino? Why the passion for Sparta? I do not understand; help me understand, my son,” his father lays a hand on his arm. “I am sorry for putting you through this pressure, but you must understand—you are the future of Athens. I need to know if you are fit for bearing the burden.”

Dino takes a deep breath.

“My loyalties lie with Athens,” he repeats, but then he adds, “but it also lies with Sparta. Father, they are good people. They are human beings, with similar aspirations as us. I do not want more death, Father—you _know_ I don’t. Much as I adore tales of heroes and gods, I cannot bear to see lives snuffed out for such petty and inconsequential squabbles. Do you not understand, Father, or have you too been swallowed by man’s want for glory in battle?”

It pains Dino to speak such harsh words to his father, but he has been asked of honesty, and though his honesty is blistering, he merely gives what is wanted of him.

His father is quieted by his assertions, but only temporarily. During his pause, the servants bring in the breakfast, and when the servants leave the hall, his father poses another question, this time infinitely more dangerous, “And apart from the people of Sparta, who do you feel affection for?”

Startled, Dino gives his father an incredulous stare.

“Do you take me for an idiot, son?” his father chuckles darkly. “I have seen how you act, Dino. Contrary to Romario’s claims, you have not been frequenting the brothels of the city. No, you have been slipping out of Corinth and riding to Argos in the middle of the night, unguarded and alone. Well, putting your unforgivable carelessness aside, I will ask you again: who else do you feel affection for?”

Dino bows his head. He closes his eyes, steadies his breath, calms his pulse, and stills his thoughts. When he is settled and ready for the admonition he knows will come, he says, “Kyouya.”

His father looks at him. “Kyouya.”

He nods.

“This is, perchance, not _Hibari_ Kyouya, the new Spartan King, is it?” and Dino feels a knifing pain at the tightness and desperation he hears in his father’s voice. But he has been asked of honesty... “It is? It is! Oh. Oh, by _Zeus_ , my son. The Spartan _King_!”

Dino smiles through his pain. “Father, forgive me, but I cannot control my heart!”

His father says nothing. They sit there, he in awkward silence, his father with face buried in trembling hands. They sit there, until Dino rises quietly and leaves his father alone, until there is nothing but trepidation settling within Dino’s heart. His secret is out; now it is only a matter of time and decision.

Time and decision.  
  


~

 

Vividly he recalls: the arch of Kyouya’s back, the taste of Kyouya’s neck, the burn of Kyouya’s gaze, the sleight of Kyouya’s tongue. Vividly: the heat around him clenching, the slide of skin on skin, the luscious pain of friction, the vicious pump of blood.

And so clearly, he remembers the lilt of Kyouya’s voice, when they talk of Athens. The laughter in Kyouya’s eyes whenever he utters a jest; the brush of Kyouya’s fingers when they feed each other at the table. The weight of Kyouya’s head on his shoulder when they sleep at night. The gentleness of Kyouya’s fingers as they wash each other in the morn.

With such rich memories he is secure: Kyouya will not hurt him.

So he stands.

 

~

 

The gods accompany him. Dino rejoices in his heart as he mounts his white stallion and bids his father goodbye. It is midday, and the sun is at its zenith, Apollo watching over his steps as he gathers himself for a long discussion following a short journey. His father is pained to see him go, but he reassures the man with a bright and thankful smile. His father is a good man, sincere; this is a sign of faith between them, a sign that his father trusts him enough to know that he knows what he is doing.

Dino hopes he will not disappoint.

He gathers the men to follow after him, all of an entire cohort (1). The gods are with him, for he is fortunate to have dissuaded his father against sending with him the whole of a legion (2) for mere protection. It is unnecessary, he had told his father, and brings about a foul atmosphere to what is supposed to be a peaceable meeting. All things considered, a cohort is a good compromise between his need for breadth to move and his father’s insistence upon security.

With all of his men on mount, he expects the ride to Argos short. Romario rides along with him, all of disapproval and admonition—but today, Dino will not listen. No; today, Dino will show them what he has invested in Sparta, and why. He will show them how his efforts are not in vain, how things will work out simply fine, because though the Spartans are bloodthirsty in battle, they remain honourable men with ears and eyes outside of it. So it stands to reason that he should keep Athens and Sparta outside of a war.

Halfway towards Argos and he sights in the distant hilltop a scout, a lookout, squinting at them from afar, and then riding away, back towards Spartan territory. He is not troubled; he had expected this. It is all the better if Kyouya is alerted, because of all things, Kyouya dislikes being taken by surprise.

In turn he is not surprised when Kyouya meets him with a full _mora_ (3) of men on the other side of that tall and distant hilltop, where the hills are pressed into the earth flat until the short but wide expanse of a valley is formed. He had expected as much; Kyouya will refuse to show any form or even the slightest nuance of cowardice in face of an enemy’s marching force. This recalcitrant attitude is only another one of the many little things he has grown to love in Kyouya’s spirit.

He smiles across the short valley wherein the two of them now ride towards each other, because there Kyouya is, his Kyouya exclusively, in all magnificent and forbidding glory. The splash of red across the landscape’s green-and-brown is a startling comfort to his eyes; he has indeed been influenced in more than one way. His hoplites, too, are in red, except there is more white cloth than red, because Athens likes the purity of white. He thinks this is rather ironic (at best) and hypocritical (at worst) in war.

“The Spartan army seems agitated, Your Highness,” Romario is hushed and cautious beside him as they descend to the valley. He chooses to concentrate upon guiding his stallion down the rocky hillside instead of gazing at the faraway opposing army.

“Worry not, my friend; things will go smoothly, I assure you,” but he is quite sure his assurance is no longer enough for Romario. Nevertheless he goes through the motions and says the words; though he was severely hurt by Romario’s words a week past, Romario has taken care of him since he was but a child, and that, to him, is worth respect.

So occupied he is with his thoughts that when the roar of charge hits the air, it passes by his ears, and he only jolts into reality when his cohort line is speared into by an arrowhead surge from the Spartans. The first sword arches through the air and draws red. __

_Red is blood._

He draws his sword, rides to the forefront.

 

~

 

Today, he understands why Kyouya dislikes surprises, because though some of them are pleasant, he learns now that most of them are not. Losing Romario in the chaos, he wields his sword, down upon men and men and men.

A friend—perhaps a relative—screams for the first fallen, and charges at him. A friend—perhaps a relative—defends him and falls. Another friend of the one who had defended him retaliates. It devolves into a whirling mass of red and gold.

“Wait!” he tells them, “Stop!”

They do not listen.

And the only way to make them stop is by the cut of his blade and the brunt of his force, so he shoves his way along the jostling lines, leaves his stallion behind and goes by foot. It is easier this way, for his feet are free; but it is harder this way, for he only sees so much. He brings his sword to defend his brothers, Athenians—but he cares to be gentle and kind, even in war.

He does not understand; they had done _nothing_. Athens had done _nothing_ and yet Sparta had charged. Sparta had not seemed eager for a war. Deceit is not an idea to entertain. What he had—still has—with Kyouya is true; for certain there is nothing that will change that fact.

But today, today, the gods are with him. He soon finds Kyouya, dismounted and in blood. Not his own, but _Athenian_ blood. Dino’s men’s blood. In a shocking moment of grief, he has to close his eyes. Grit his teeth. Breathe deep. When he opens his eyes, more are fallen, and he is not dreaming.

Snarling and whirling in a circle, Kyouya brings down two more men. _Athenian_ men. Kyouya does not stop until they are sword to sword. Dino pushes him back. Pushes him back with a force he wishes only to temper in the presence of his love, but today he is given no choice.

“Kyouya, please stop.”

He begs, but is not heard. He forces Kyouya back; they tumble into arms and legs, the battle is a mighty struggle. They meet and part in groaning heat, backs blistering under sun.

“Kyouya, why do we do this?”

Around them a rigid link of human flesh, churning and chaotic, in war. Brothers, fathers, all in war.

“Because _you_ and _I_ are enemies, herbivore—why _else_?”

In a minute, an hour, the day entire, Dino does not know, but he wanders atop a nightmare as more brothers fall and more brothers fall.

“Stop killing my men!” he screams, but slash his blade goes at a Spartan, and Kyouya says, “Not while you kill my men!”

They are children, _children_ , bickering and losing over such nonsense! Eventually the men, uncles, fathers, brothers, they lose their finesse of fighting and training. They take with their fists and what blade they can hold, and the brutality of man takes over full-force.

He tells them, he bids them, _stop, stop, stopstopstop_ , but they never do, they never will. They reach for the weapon and use it to take life, pull one after the other, out of the body and out of the soul, never to come back again, the heart never to beat. Never to love.

All around the Prince there are the sounds of the fallen: roars of glory, screams of pain, cries for mercy, breaths of relief. All around the two of them there are the sounds of battle, the reason of their parting, the rift of their love. All around them, all around them, as if a piece for demonstration, Dino has before his very eyes and ears the reason for their parting. __

_This_ , Kyouya says to him, _this is why we fight._

And when Dino falls he does not realize that he is laughing, and that he is bleeding. He does not know that he falls, because all he does know is Kyouya’s eyes, and Kyouya’s grin, and Kyouya’s blade. Because all he does know is that he finally understands—he understands why men die in war.

In life there is nothing sadder than the death of an illusion.

 

~

 

Blood is red, and sky is blue, and cloud is white, and sun is high. Above him Kyouya’s hair is black, eyes dark and molten, grin ferocious and bloody and menacing. Above him, behind Kyouya, shines a light so divine Dino knows it is not of this world. Above him, above him, Dino sees the gods watching, he sees the gods giving him what he had wished for with such ardour.

He does not feel the pain so he laughs, but the blade is deep in his stomach. He does not feel the pain so he rejoices to be in Kyouya’s arms once more. His King cradles him in arms of steel, close and intimate, tender and burning.

Dino watches as red lips part, forming words he cannot hear. Kyouya speaks to tell him something, but he cannot hear. He blinks, all sluggish, and sees the tears. Kyouya is grinning, but on his cheeks are tears. Kyouya’s grin, like the tears, is feral, animal, unbound. And the lips still part, forming words he cannot hear.

In the close of his eyes and the swift release of his breath he feels life, _fire_ , bleeding between him and his lover, between his soul and Kyouya’s. This, he thinks, this is a perfect unity, perfect in its flawed and all-too-unlikely existence.

Faintly, in the distance, the loss of Kyouya’s heat. Faintly, in the distance, Kyouya’s fading voice:

“ _This is for Sparta_!”

Sun is high, and cloud is white, and sky is blue, and blood is red.

Blood is red, red is blood.

Black and red.

Black. __

_Kyouya._

 

 

~

_love is not a victory march_

_it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_


End file.
